


but you're wrong (you will bruise)

by lunasasylum



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: F/M, Hell In A Cell, I liked the thought and the concept, I really kind of wrote this for myself, Protective!Reader, Protectiveness, Self-Indulgent, Suplexes everywhere, The Architect - Freeform, Wrestling, the Big Dog, the Lunatic Fringe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-13 11:09:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16016675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunasasylum/pseuds/lunasasylum
Summary: you would go down in WWE history as the woman who suxplexed Brock Lesnar and beat Ronda Rousey in the same night.//Reader is in HIAC, defending her boys, and fighting for her title.





	but you're wrong (you will bruise)

**Author's Note:**

> I seriously did not proofread this. It's like one in the morning and I was just pissed when I saw Brock interfere. I don't what this is, but here it is.
> 
> HIAC really pissed me off.

You would kill Brock Lesnar if you could. You swore to every deity there was that you would kill him if it wouldn't put you behind bars for the rest of your life. He was the only person that you hated, and you had a good reason to hate a lot of people. 

For the audience you played a great face. Soft and innocent with an adorable smile to match. You were able to smother whatever sat underneath and show them an angelic, young woman, easy to get behind, nice to love. The kind of girl you bring home to your parents.The only people who knew were Roman, Dean, and Seth. They knew behind the sugar sweet gimmick you used for the audience, there was a lot of anger bubbling beneath the surface. But, you were strong enough to be a competitor, to be taken seriously, you just didn't think everyone needed another heel.

Brock Lesnar, however, pushed your buttons. Every single one of them. You hated how he looked, how he walked, how talked, you even hated how he wrestled. He was extremely overrated and still acted like he was the best. He talked to Roman like he was an actual dog and treated Seth and Dean like second class citizens. You could care less how people treated you, your friends were a different story.

They kept telling you that it wasn't that serious, that he treated everyone like that, in your eyes, that still didn't make it right.

So, when he showed up at Hell In A Cell, you knew there would be trouble. You saw him enter the building early, but kept yourself quiet and alert. All through the night, you were on edge, waiting for the moment that he would show up to hurt someone. As bad as you wanted to tell Roman, Seth, and Dean, you stayed quiet. The last thing they needed was more stress on top the title matches that they had tonight. Secretly, you tracked Brock's movements, watched where he went, how he was acting, you took note of what he was wearing.

The night was already long and grueling for all of you. Seth and Dean rammed through an intense match to win back the tag team titles, and once they did, it put an even bigger target on their backs. Now, the Shield held all of the men's belts on Raw, which meant if Roman retained tonight, they'd be defending their belts every week for months. If you won the belt of off Ronda in tonight's main event, a Falls Count Anywhere match, then you'd all hold the Raw belts, making it more important that you all stick together. Roman's match was just before yours and you lost track of Brock when you went in search of Roman. 

Dean and Seth were being checked out by medical, so it was just you and Roman talking before his match.

"Nervous?" You asked, trying to laugh but the sound came out a lot higher and pitchier than you intended. It was almost painful to be casual when you knew what beast was lurking around the corners.

Shaking his head, he smiled at you. "I have you and I have my brothers, everything is going fine. I don't intend on losing this belt tonight." He'd just put his plates on yesterday, and you ran shaky fingers over his tag. He noticed your trembling hands and looked back at you. "Are you alright?"

You wanted to tell him, it was on the tip of your tongue, but you swallowed it back. "Just nervous for my match with Ronda. My first actual Hell In A Cell and everything, y'know?"  Your watery smile sealed the deal and Roman ruffled your hair.

"You have nothing to be worried about. You're the best on the roster, you know that." He grinned down at you, and your heart clenched in your chest. Roman had done everything in his power to protect, to keep you safe, and happy. 

Tonight you'd do the same for him, no matter the cost.

Pressing a kiss to Roman's cheek, you made him promise that he'd bring the belt back. When he grinned and held your neck, you knew he was planning on it. When he walked out, you squared your shoulders and rolled your neck.

Brock certainly wasn't a spectator, he never came unless he had to, unless he wanted to interfere. If Roman was going to lose the belt tonight, it would be because Braun bested him, not because Brock ruined it.

The match was going smoothly for the most part. It had the same up and downs that every one of his other matches had and you were watching with a vigor and a passion that was unmatched. But, there was still a chill running down your neck every time Roman had Braun pinned. 

_Where the fuck was Brock?_

When you saw him walking toward the stage, you knew you had to do something. But, what the hell where you going to do? Brock was easily two times your size, in both height and weight. He could overpower you, he could easily put you through the cell.

Before you could actually comprehend what you were doing, you moved towards him grabbing a steel chair on your way out. Everyone in the back was too shocked to stop you, so you didn't think about it. Once Brock moved into the view of the audience, you lowered the chair to hit him behind the knees with the chair, effectively chopping him in half. The crowd was roaring around you, yet your main concern was still protecting Roman and that damn title. 

If he really wanted to get inside that cell, he'd have to kill you. And, you weren't exaggerating.

You kept going at him with the steel chair until it was bent in half and useless. From there, you weren't sure what to do, so you kept beating on Brock's universal weak spots. You dug your boots into his back, stomping on the back of his neck, and working on his left knee.

Isolate and destroy. Of course, once Brock got up, things would get that much harder for you, so you knew putting him down quickly was the best course of action. Dropping down on the back of his left knee, you listened as he groaned and rolled out on to his leg. Kicking him in his knee again, you kicked as hard as you possibly could, and kept going until Brock shoved you down.

Never in your life have you ever underestimated an opponent, and you weren't going to start with Brock. He literally knocked the breath out of your body and you coughed out a harsh cry. His fists connected with your ribs repeatedly and you swore that he was going to break one. He was heavy as hell, and wouldn't let up on for even a second.

Standing on his good leg, Brock leaned down picking you, preparing to chokeslam you through the floor. You were completely prepared for it, and had braced for it to happen. But, when his hand squeezed around your throat and you swam in the feeling of being deprived of oxygen, your body switched into that other place.

That place with no conscience, no rational thought, no plan, no morals, no ethics. That place of pure instinct and adrenaline, a place filled with all of your fears and all of your strengths. A complete darkness fell over you before you opened your eyes and saw Brock differently.

Not just another wrestler, but a real opponent, someone trying to hurt you, someone trying to kill you. And you had to survive, you had to win. In this state of mind there were no low blows, no cheap shots, there were only moves that would keep you alive. You were taken back to all those nights when you were so much younger, so much more innocent.

_"Listen, you go in that ring and knock him out, or you don't come out!"_

Knock him out. Put him down. Keep him down. Put him  _out._

So, thankful for your long arms, you clawed at Brock's wrist with one hand and drove the heel of your hand into his nose with the other. He unceremoniously released you and you hit the floor with a huge thud. Reacting quickly, you kicked out his left knee again and Brock fell next to you.

All instinct. All adrenaline. No thought. No morals. Only winning. Only living.

You kicked him in the face enough times to keep him down before setting it up. From this height, in this position, could at least put him away for a while. Brock was the biggest person you had ever faced, the strongest, but not the most uncaring about your health. You'd fought people who had real things to lose if they got knocked out. You'd fought against people fighting for food, for a safe place to sleep, for somewhere to go at the end of the night. You'd fought people a lot hungrier than Brock.

But, Brock had never fought anyone like you.

Later, you'd call it adrenaline, or anger, or hate, or the fierce desire to protect the first person to ever unconditionally love you. You weren't entirely sure what you did when it was happening, everyone calls it a suplex now, or some variation of a suplex. All you know is that heaving a nearly 300 pound person over your shoulders is something you had never done before in your life. Yet, as you threw Brock off the stage and into some stage equipment beneath the floor, it felt natural. Somewhere behind you, you'd heard a three count, a complete three count, and you still weren't focused on it.

The medics were rushing out, attending to Brock's seemingly unconscious body. 

The audience's screams were deafening at this point. Looking down at Brock, you stared as they called his name, trying to bring him to a wakeful state. Someone touched your shoulder and you drew back a balled fist, prepared to fight again. Roman held his hands up in caution, staring down at you in slight awe and fear. The belt was haphazardly slung over his shoulder.

"Are you okay?" 

Nodding, but saying 'No.' at the same time, you glanced back at Brock who was waking up. Slowly, you turned around and went backstage. Roman was hot on your heels, and Dean and Seth were rushing but you shoved them off. 

"Please, don't, stop." You fought against the hands straining to touch you. "I have a match right now. Stop." Roughly pushing them off, you walked away, waiting for your match.

You knew you weren't in the right headspace to have a match and not kill Ronda. But, you were the main event, and you were going to win. 

As far as opponent went, you and Ronda were pretty equally matched. Ronda had the experience, she had the style, she had the strength. Yet when it came to raw power, aggression, and drive, you had it all. 

All eyes were on you after you put Brock through the floor. Either you'd be put away quickly after the adrenaline ran it's course and left, or you'd put Ronda away quickly.

In the end, you and Ronda ended up on top of the cell. The crowd was on it's feet at the moment, anxious to watch what would take place on top of the cell. 

The match was getting too long and tiresome. She was weary and you were exhausted. Your back had horrible, red marks from being thrown into the cell. Still, you put Ronda through a table twice, and neither of you were done. A steel chair had been taken to your ribs and you were struggling to catch your breath. You were both bleeding and bruised at the top, but it wasn't over until you pinned her. 

You were too close to the edge of the cell, and you knew that if Ronda got you off, you'd be down for good. She brought the chair down again, and it happened once more. Your vision faded to black before coming back. The adrenaline found it's way through your veins and heavy heart. In a repeat move, you kicked out Ronda's left knee and set her up. It was almost mutually assured destruction. If you hit this, Ronda wouldn't get up, but you might not either. 

Breathing in, you hefted Ronda over your shoulder and felt the sure foundation of the steel leave your feet as you two went over the edge.

_The Architect. The Big Dog. The Lunatic Fringe._

You supposed you were mix of all of them. The men who trained you, honed in your skills, who loved you. Smart enough to know that a suplex off the top of the ring would put Ronda down. Strong enough to heave someone stronger and heavier than you over your head, even through the immense racketing it's way through your bones. Also, crazy enough to put your body, and your life, on the line to win.

The fall through the table was shocking and startling. It was like nothing you had experienced before.

You heard the audience counting with the referee and you knew you had to roll Ronda up. 

As you locked it in, you knew if she kicked out that would be it for you. There was nothing more you could give to this match without killing her. 

_1, A hot burn coursed through the length of your spine._

_2, An ache had already started in you shoulders from where she kicked you into the steel off the top rope._

_3, Your arms were screaming at you to release the tension._

"Your new Raw Women's Champion...!" The sound of your name over the speakers followed by the belt pressed into your hand solidified your win.

You won. It was over.

The referee helped you stand and raised your hand. The smile on your face was weak as the adrenaline had run it's course through your body, leaving you weak. Once he let you go, making your way to the back was your prime priority. You shouldered off medical attention and gripped the cell as you held yourself up. Once your hand left it though, you could feel your legs your giving out beneath you. Your eyes rolled in the back of your head and your vision went black and then filled with spots.

Just as your body went slack, support came for you. Two hands wrapped around your waist and another slid your belt out of your hand. You couldn't even help whoever was helping you. You were basically dead weight as they carried you out. You kept fading in and out of consciousness as you were taken up the ramp. Struggling to regain control of your limbs, black hair twirled in front of your face as someone came close to you again. 

The pounding in your head made it hard to focus and the rough voice in your ear made you shiver.

"We got you."

The voice was familiar enough for you pass out safely.


End file.
